May We Meet Again
by gtgrandom
Summary: When Robin finds himself trapped in the past, he can only turn to one person - Batman. Trouble is, they haven't exactly...met yet. (Set in YJ universe, but Batfam-oriented).
1. Chapter 1

_Hey guys! I'm back with a Robin fic, finally. I'm really going to try and NOT disappear off the face of the earth in the middle of this one, promise. But a little R &R always helps me stick to it. Oh, and any 100 fans will know where I got the title. XD_

* * *

 **May We Meet Again**

CHAPTER ONE

 _-Present day, 2012-_

Dick stared, his throat dry, his stomach plummeting.

" _What_?"

Bruce met his eyes with his own stern gaze. The screen from the monitor cast harsh light over his face. "I said, you're _grounded_. No patrol for the rest of the year."

No patrol?

What did that even mean?

"What about the Team?" he asked tentatively.

"You can still visit the Cave, but you'll have to sit out on any missions."

Dick's world shot out beneath his feet. Running away from him, like a criminal on the loose.

There was still four months left in the year! He wanted him to sit out for four months? Was he insane?

"You can't do that," Dick said, too angry to plead.

Dick watched as his mentor moved for the stairs, running away from conversations, like always.

"Your nights as Robin are a privilege, Dick. And I can revoke that privilege the minute you disobey me. That was the deal."

"You wanted me to _leave_ you!" the teenager cried. Incredulous. "You wanted me to leave you to a bunch of ruthless criminals in the sewers of Gotham. With a broken arm!"

Bruce sighed, gripping onto the railing tightly. "I told you to take Gordon out of there and request backup. I could have held them off till then," Bruce argued, and Dick scoffed, folding his arms. "I made it very clear the day you took up the mantle of Robin that I called the shots, no questions asked. You have to trust me, or this doesn't work."

"I was trying to save your _life_."

"And you nearly lost _yours_ in the process," Bruce retorted. "Not to mention, you put the Commissioner's life in danger."

Dick glanced down at the bullet wound in his thigh. He felt the tears well up—in frustration, not pain—but he refused to let them free. Not in front of Bruce.

"You can't take this away from me," he whispered pathetically.

Bruce's shoulders fell, and his face softened. An imperceptible shift to a stranger. But Dick had learned Bruce's body language early on. He had to—it was the only language he spoke fluently.

"Until you learn to follow orders, this is the way it has to be."

* * *

OoO

* * *

"He wants me to trust him, but he won't even trust _me_!" Dick hissed, his breath white against the air. "I always thought we were partners. But I guess I was wrong."

"I'm sorry, man," Wally said from the other end of the line. "If it makes you feel better, Barry treats me the same way. Like a sidekick who can't survive on his own. A caddy."

"What's their deal?" Dick huffed, lying back on the roof of some casino. "I mean, it's not like he's been training me for four years or anything."

He could hear Wally's humph of agreement over the background noise of Mario Kart.

"And it's not like he never gets hurt. He comes home bruised and battered every night! God forbid I get shot—"

"Wait, you got shot?" Wally snapped.

Dick winced.

Worried-Wally was a nightmare. He and Babs were similar in that regard.

"It was just a graze."

"And you're back out there, right now? Without permission. Aren't you in pain?"

"It helps fuel my anger."

"You're a moron."

"So is Batman."

Wally sighed unhappily. "Don't you think all this might have something to do with…you know…the date?"

Dick worked his jaw. "That has nothing to do with it."

"Because around this time every year, you sort of go all self-sacrificial and push the limits."

Dick shook his head, even though Wally wasn't there to see him. "This isn't about my parents, KF. It's about Batman. Robin's a part of me now. Bruce can't just expect me to pretend like I live a normal life for the rest of the year. I've never lived a normal life! I have no concept of what constitutes as normal."

Wally laughed into the phone. "Maybe a little break will be a good thing, then. I mean, it's not like you can be Robin forever."

The words sent the cold air straight to Dick's lungs, and he bit his lip.

"You don't think so?"

A beat passed as the speedster realized he wasn't joking.

"What, you're gonna run around in tights for the rest of your life?"

Dick opened his mouth and closed it again.

He wasn't like Batman. He wasn't consumed by the _life_.

And yet, just the idea of losing his alter ego for months was enough to send him over the edge. To hang up the uniform forever? Maybe that was something Wally could envision, but a life without Robin? Impossible.

Robin was freedom. He was kissing skylines and jumping off skyscrapers. He was beating up bad guys and saving lives. He was time spent with the real Bruce Wayne, not his mask.

How could his mentor deny him that?

Wally didn't get it. Turning to crime-fighting—it wasn't something that gave his life purpose. He'd had a family. He'd had a home. A childhood. To Dick, Robin was his life. Being an acrobat was all he'd ever known.

"I should probably head back before Alfred checks in on me. The Bat Glare has nothing on an angry butler."

"Sure thing. But Dick," Wally said, pausing his game. "Be careful out there, okay? Bruce isn't the only one you scare when you do stupid shit."

"Yeah...okay. Goodnight, KF."

* * *

OoO

* * *

He was making his way back home when a burst of white energy kissed his peripheral.

 _Meta_ , Robin thought solemnly.

He followed the light to an alleyway, crouching at the edge of the fire escape.

The man below wore a dark hood that shadowed his face, but his hands were covered in tattoos. He didn't look like a typical Gotham thug. Robin was getting more of a League of Shadows vibe.

"Don't you wish you could turn back the clock?" the man murmured to himself, as he placed his palms upon the brick wall at the end of the alley. White light spread from his hands, traveling along the mortar.

"To visit those which we have lost?"

The bricks shuddered, pulsing with energy.

"I knew you would come, Dick Grayson," the man said coldly, and Robin slid a little bit from his perch on the railing, stunned.

"How do you—"

"I am Lord of Time. I know your past, present, and future," he explained. "You see, Richard, we meet again someday, under less agreeable circumstances. That is why I must apologize in advance for this tragic _goodbye_."

Robin should have seen it coming.

An invisible force tugged on his body, and he fell from the fire escape, slapping the grimy floor of Gotham with a crack. He just had a chance to glance up at the shadowed figure before the force yanked him backwards, into the wall.

Or…through it.

* * *

OoO

* * *

He hurdled through glass and landed on cold, checkered linoleum.

What…in the _hell_ …?

Alarms started screaming, and Dick was having a hard enough time trying to recover from the crash-landing without losing his goddamn hearing.

He groaned, shifting his body away from the shards. His thigh throbbed and blood began to seep through his uniform. Again.

He finally opened his eyes to a dark room flooded with the stale green light of an exit sign and the flashing red alarms on the ceiling.

It was like the Christmas apocalypse.

 _Okay_ , he thought, trying to focus. _Think._

Where had he been moments before?

Fighting some weirdo that called himself the Lord of Time?

Then the next thing he knew, he was shooting through a brick wall like Harry Potter and was somehow transported across multiple blocks of Gotham City to…

 _Ah. Figures._

He wondered why this place seemed familiar. Even in the dark, he couldn't forget the austere architecture of Wayne Enterprises.

Bruce was going to _murder_ him.

He could forget ever patrolling again, let alone four months from now.

He sat up on his elbows, pushing the button on his communicator to check the time.

He'd only been gone about two hours. If he could clean up this mess and reach the manor before anyone even noticed he was—

His eyes found the date in the corner of the time compartment, and he lost his train of thought.

Dick squinted.

That…couldn't be right.

Had he landed too hard on his side? Did the fall mess up the settings or something?

Before he could investigate the error, a figure swooped down and landed at the edge of the broken window. A familiar, unwelcome sight.

"Batman…" he sighed, trying to come up with a viable excuse, anything really.

His mentor flicked his hand, and a batarang stapled the fabric of Dick's cape to the floor. Pinning him to the ground.

"Hey!"

Alfred would _not_ be pleased.

Batman moved forward like a dark, unforgiving wave.

Okay, so yeah, he was in deep shit, but still. Bruce never actually threw stuff at him? Didn't he care that he was covered in glass and bleeding? Was he _that_ angry?

Robin was about to open the floodgates and start apologizing when Batman stepped closer, towering over him with a cold, distant stare.

"Who are you?"

* * *

OoO

* * *

"Who _am_ I?" Dick repeated incredulously. "What are you talking about?! Are you concussed?"

Batman worked his jaw, revealing nothing.

Robin could hardly breathe. Was this some sick joke?

"You're not fighting back. You haven't stolen anything. And you're dressed like a clown. Start talking."

A clown?

Robin stared helplessly at Batman, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation as to why his mentor didn't recognize him. Dementia? Clone? Brainwashing?

And then his eyes flitted down to his communicator again, and he swallowed.

 _No way_.

 _No, no, no, no._

"What year is it?" he asked, afraid of the answer he would receive, the implications of his response.

Batman glared at him.

"What's the date?" Robin stressed, eyes wide and haunted.

"It's August 2…"

Robin's throat constricted.

"August 2, 2007."

* * *

 _And that's the pitch._

 _Here we go._


	2. Chapter 2

_WOW. The feedback for the last chapter was amazing. This fandom seriously rocks. Also, time travel is tricky, and I'm probably going to make some paradoxical errors, so just...bear with me._

* * *

CHAPTER 2

 _-2007-_

The Time _Jerk_ had sent him to the past.

Five years into the past!

And if there was one thing Dick had learned from Barry Allen, it was that messing with the timeline in any way, shape, or form was prohibited.

He needed to get out of here, and far away from Batman.

"Ah," he breathed, when he realized the older man was waiting for a response. "That's what I thought. Just checking…for brain damage."

"I've answered your questions. Now it's your turn. Who are you? Why are you in my city?"

Man. He hadn't been the recipient of Batman's sinister stare in a long time. It wasn't fun.

"I've um, got my ID? Just…hold on a sec." Robin held up his pointer finger as he reached into his belt. Just as Batman caught on, Robin launched four smoke pellets at his mentor, springing away on his stupid leg.

With his grappling gun in hand, he dove out the broken window, disappearing into the city as quickly as he could—just as Bruce had taught him.

* * *

OoO

* * *

It was the night of his parents' murder.

It meant if he could get there before Zucco ended their lives, he could see them in the flesh one last time. Just to see them smile. To freshen his memory of his mother's face, and his father's laugh.

He didn't exactly look inconspicuous, and it wasn't like people knew him yet as Robin, so he bought a large sweatshirt off some guy in the street and wandered over to the Big Top downtown.

Unfortunately, he didn't have a ticket—a ticket he had to buy online, weeks prior.

He tried to convince the man at the front that he'd merely lost it.

"It was right here, in my pocket," he insisted. Initiating Innocent Orphan Mode.

"I'm sorry, kid. No ticket, no entry."

Dick sighed, exasperated, and he nodded solemnly, walking away. He waited for the man to turn his back before dashing through the tent flaps.

The smells—the colors—a wave of nostalgia so intense, it nearly made his knees buckle. There were faces of old friends. Music he'd learned to heart. Everything was so bright and familiar and home-like. It was like pulling into the manor driveway after a month of traveling overseas. Only ten times more potent.

He came to a complete halt.

A family of three stood before him, perfectly content for the last time.

His mom. And his dad.

And…himself.

They were huddled close backstage. His mother was so young—he'd forgotten. Her cheeks were rosy red, her eyes crinkled when she looked down at him.

His dad had features that Dick had never really paid particular attention to before. Features he'd observed in himself, staring in the mirror.

They were both so happy and together and _alive_ and Dick could hardly take it. He was falling. Crumbling apart. This was his old life. It was finally within reach. A few strides away, and he could touch the memory.

He tore his gaze away from his parents to analyze himself, five years ago.

He really hadn't grown all that much, considering he was still small for his age. But his old self was a child in every sense, light and carefree, blue eyes curious and untainted. The younger doppelganger turned then, towards himself, and Dick yanked the hood back over his head, glancing away.

 _Don't screw up the timeline._

Then he heard Haly announcing the _Flyyyying Graaaaysons_ , and his family entered from stage left. In the corridor they abandoned, Dick saw Tony Zucco snaking his way to the stairs, the stairs that would lead him to the wires and the chain of events that left a permanent hole in his chest.

It took everything in his power not to jump the guy and send him to the medical ward of Blackgate.

But…Dick had come to terms with his family's death years ago. He'd gotten justice for Zucco's crime. He'd moved on. At least, as well as he could.

It didn't mean it hurt any less to know he had the ability to stop his parents' murders and had to restrain himself from doing just that.

"There he is!" someone shouted from behind him. Dick whirled, spotting two Policemen and the damn ticket vendor.

Dick swore and ran, slamming into Zucco on his way out. The guy staggered back, and he could hear the policeman confronting the villain, throwing questions about his presence backstage. Dick was flying past them too fast to catch the rest.

He managed to disappear amidst the dark spaces of the tent, acclimated well to the shelter of shadows.

He leaned back against the wall and waited for the shrieks, the people screaming and sobbing.

He waited.

And he waited.

And something was wrong, because surely the act hadn't lasted that long before.

And then there was wild applause, and Haly's proud voice booming over the speakers, and Dick felt the panic creeping in.

He crouched behind the audience seating, wary of the cops, and he watched himself and his family bow and wave before exiting the stage.

Zucco was nowhere to be found.

And neither, Dick realized horribly, was Bruce Wayne.

* * *

OoO

* * *

He watched his parents backstage, numb.

They wore bright smiles and their chests heaved from adrenaline.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

Even though he loved them, and he thought he would do anything to save them, the fact remained: they died and he went to live with Bruce. He became Robin. And he was here, now, because of that.

If none of those events occurred, then the Dick Grayson from the old timeline no longer existed.

All those years, growing up beside the infamous Batman, and Alfred…all those friends he'd made along the way…

Imaginary.

If and when he returned to the future, it wouldn't be a future he would recognize.

On the one hand, he'd have his family back, people who loved him dearly. He would never have seen so much death and violence. He wouldn't have to worry about Vandal Savage or losing his right to patrol. He could live a happy life away from Gotham.

But the thought granted him nothing but dread.

He _had_ to fix this.

The question wasn't if he should, but how.

Only he had no resources. No money. No friends. He could try to find Wally and convince him to let him stay at his house. Knowing him, he'd believe Dick and try to help. But interacting with anyone from the future would have unintended consequences. And Wally wasn't even a speedster yet. He couldn't help even if he wanted to.

 _Think, Dick, think._

He'd read something once in Bat's encrypted files about a professor who had developed some kind of time machine, but he was drawing blank on the name. That man might be the only way out of this situation. And the only information on such a person would be found in a forbidden place. One strictly off limits. Extremely dangerous.

 _Home_.

* * *

OoO

* * *

Dick crept through the dark of the Cave, smug because his mentor's security sucked balls. Of course, the codes were mostly the same, and the ones that had changed were easily decrypted.

Such barbaric times.

He slumped down in the old chair, the way he usually did, with his knees tucked up to his chest. He quickly logged into the computer, the giant monitor engulfing the Cave in a soft, white hue.

Dick's fingers flickered over the keyboard, working like a pianist over a memorized playing field.

He tried searching for time travel, but he came up with nothing but entry logs about the Flash. And how much of an idiot Barry was for denting the space-time continuum.

But as he scrolled through other records and articles, and maneuvered through some of the more encrypted files, he came up empty.

No Time Lords. No professors with time machines.

 _Weird_.

It meant that Bruce would have attained the information during the time Dick had lived with him. And surely Bruce would have said something to him if he'd discovered alternate means of time travel while they'd been working together?

Then again…Bruce had his secrets. And he saw Robin as a sidekick. Not a partner.

The file _had_ been restricted, after all.

Dick slumped back in the seat, defeated.

Great. Now he had no leads and no one to trust. Back to square one.

He wanted to scream from pure frustration.

Then the chair was suddenly spinning around, and he was face to face with a very angry Batman.

* * *

OoO

* * *

"How did you get in here?" he snarled.

Dick rolled his eyes, unseen behind his mask.

"Please. You're talking to a hacking genius. Your system needs intense upgrades."

Batman didn't like his tone, judging by the way his eyes narrowed into slits.

"Give me one reason I shouldn't lock you up in—"

"You can cut the act, Bruce," Dick sighed, oddly satisfied by the palpable shock on his mentor's face.

But there was a flash of fear in Batman's features that Dick could sympathize with. A stranger with the knowledge of your secret identity? Not a great start to the morning.

"Relax. I'm a friend," Dick assured him, knocking away the stiff arms that caged him in. Bruce stood back, still glaring. The _friend_ thing probably wasn't a very convincing argument.

There was the only way out of this mess. No matter how much he hated the idea.

"Look, I'm from the future, and I need your help."

* * *

OoO

* * *

Bruce peeled back his cowl—no need for it now. His identity had been disclosed, and this kid clearly wasn't intimidated by him.

Which was new, to say the least.

"The future," Bruce repeated.

The boy glanced at the ceiling, annoyed. He couldn't have been over fourteen. Small, but well-built. And sporting something dangerously close to a vigilante uniform. He recognized the utility belt, recalling the smoke pellets the kid had pulled on him earlier.

Bruce didn't want to think about how such a young kid fell into the clutches of crime-fighting.

"Yeah. Five years from now, actually," the boy continued. "I…had a run in with this Time Lord villain, and he sent me back here. I was just recovering from the trip when you found me at Wayne Enterprises."

Bruce frowned when the boy stopped talking. The story didn't end there. He wouldn't have pursued him if it had.

"What went wrong?"

The boy scoffed, like he'd expected that exact response. The action lacked bite, though, and he seemed more resigned than anything.

"The timeline…" he muttered.

And there it was.

At least he had the decency to look ashamed.

Bruce thought he'd had enough of this time travel nonsense with Allen. Now some random pre-teen had altered the past and run to him for help.

"What specifically did you change?" he pressed, deciding a lecture wasn't appropriate.

The boy hesitated. "Some people didn't die, and you weren't where you were supposed to be."

"That's vague."

"Yeah," the kid said, his mouth forming a line as he stared thoughtfully through Bruce's left shoulder.

Bruce could tell he was smart.

 _Obviously_ , he thought. He found the Cave and broke through every security barrier he'd installed.

But he was also hyperaware of the consequences of his actions.

That wasn't something most fourteen-year-olds could grasp.

"Bruce, I need your help," the boy said, a bit of distress seeping through the poised mask. "I need to fix the past—the present. And then I need to get back to the future. I can't tell you more without screwing up the timeline. But you're the only person I can trust with this."

Bruce crossed his arms. "Why didn't you explain this earlier?"

"I didn't want you to get involved."

"And yet you're here now."

"I had no other choice."

Bruce ran through the different repercussions of agreeing to this. He might destroy the timeline and have some time wraith come for his head. He had other crime lords to crack down on, leads he couldn't afford to put on hold. And this kid would most definitely get in his way.

And yet…

"You know my identity," Bruce said, and the boy looked up at him, somehow expressing much more than the mask should allow. "Then I must trust you in the future."

The boy nodded again, fighting a relieved smile.

Bruce studied him, making last-minute calculations. The kid seemed rather open with Bruce. Comfortable, much like the League. And he hadn't done anything particularly wrong.

"You look like you could use some sleep," Bruce decided. "You're free to use the guest bedroom upstairs. And we can start working on a way to get you home in the morning."

Maybe it was a dumb move, letting a stranger in. But he couldn't just throw the kid to the streets of Gotham. He couldn't do that to _any_ child.

"Thanks, Bruce," the teen said softly, so…familiarly.

It confirmed that they shared some kind of relationship in the future. Of what nature, Bruce really wasn't sure. The boy was keeping secrets, Bruce knew, but they were likely for the best intentions.

Time was a sensitive thing.

Still, he knew Bruce's identity. Wasn't it fair to demand the same?

"What's your name, kid?" he asked as they ascended the stairs.

The boy chewed his lip, and then he smiled, warm and all-knowing.

"Robin."

* * *

 _So I'm not sure when I'll update next, but maybe sometime next week? I'm not going to be updating regularly because I have a life outside FF. Kind of. Not really. I'm just lazy af. But I won't go too long between updates, or we'll both forget what the hell is going on. XD_


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you for all the feedback! It's really awesome, you guys. I appreciate it!_

* * *

CHAPTER 3

-2007-

Robin sat at the kitchen counter, eating his fourth bowl of cereal.

He'd taken off the mask, revealing two startling blue eyes, much like Bruce's— the color of oceans—of warm and shallow waters. Robin had a much younger face than Bruce had imagined, with dimples and rosy cheeks. He wore an old Gotham U sweatshirt and a pair of Bruce's workout shorts. They were triple folded around his small hips.

Bruce stood beside Alfred in the other room, watching curiously.

"He seems harmless," Alfred observed, craning his neck to examine the boy. "Except perhaps his appetite."

"I believe what he told me," Bruce agreed. "But there's something off about this whole thing. The fact that his timeline crosses ours…that he knows me so well in the future. He didn't just breach our security, Alfred. It's like he _knew_ the passcodes."

The butler pursed his lips. "Have you thought of consulting our friend in red about this, Master Bruce?"

"Barry can stay the hell away from the timeline," Bruce muttered. "Besides. Even if the Flash knows Robin's role in our future, I don't think I'm supposed to know about it. The kid's made sure of that."

"You know I can hear you guys talking, right?" the boy sang from the kitchen. "The walls have ears in this place, especially in Bruce's ...er…I mean, not that I would know, or anything. It's just an old building, you know? Construction's not so great…"

Bruce glanced at Alfred suspiciously, and the old butler quirked an amused eyebrow.

Bruce reentered the kitchen, leaning on the counter to stare at their guest.

"What were you saying about that professor?" he inquired.

Robin smirked, setting his empty bowl aside. "I don't remember his name. But you encounter him in the future, and he has access to a time machine."

"How do we know if he's even developed this machine yet?"

"We don't. And…well," Robin scrunched his nose and looked away, "I'm not entirely sure he exists."

Bruce closed his eyes, trying to breathe out slowly. "Come again?"

"Well…that's what I was checking for last night. On the Bat Computer. But the file wasn't there."

Bruce stared. _The Bat-what_? "You're telling me we need to find this man, and we don't know his name or his location, or if he even dapples in the field yet."

"And," Robin added, "I need you to go to the circus. Friday night. It's imperative."

Bruce was lost.

"The circus."

Robin looked at him like he was mentally ill. "Uh, yeah? Haly's Circus. You were supposed to go last night. But apparently you had better things to do after our little run in—"

Bruce opened his mouth to object.

"—something is going to happen when they hold the next show. I'm sure of it. And you need to be there."

Bruce glared, finding himself at the hands of a prophesizing teenager.

"Fine," he grumbled.

"Fine," Robin said.

"Good."

" _Great_."

Bruce bit his tongue, but only because Alfred gave him the _look_.

Who the hell _raised_ this kid?

* * *

OoO

* * *

Dick was making his way down the stairs when a sharp pang shot down his leg, and he staggered into Bruce.

Those over-the-counter pain meds were worth shit.

The older man stiffened, glaring down at him.

"You're hurt," he deduced.

"Just a scratch."

Dark blue eyes trailed down. "You're bleeding."

Dick glanced at his shorts and the red liquid seeping down his calf.

He sighed.

He did _not_ have time for this.

Dick waved it off and proceeded to slide down the railing instead. He hopped off at the end and sat down on the old operating table. Absentmindedly, he shuffled through the medicine boxes on his left until he found some fresh gauze and a bit of rubbing alcohol.

He bit on his sleeve and poured the liquid over the torn stitches, stifling the childish hiss of pain.

Quickly, he redid his bandages. The half-ass patch up wouldn't help much, but it would prevent infection for a little longer. At least until he could actually go home and pay Leslie a proper visit.

When he looked back at Bruce, the man hadn't moved.

"How did you get shot?" he asked, voice gruff, nearly…protective.

Dick shrugged. "Trying to save some idiot."

His mentor narrowed his eyes. "You seem pretty calm."

"It's happens."

Bruce glared, but said nothing, and he sat down at his monitor with his back to his ward. There was silence for a beat, and then—

"How did you get involved in crime fighting?"

Dick visibly flinched. "I never said—"

"I'm a detective."

Dick frowned and kicked his legs up to the table, folding them beneath him.

"A friend saved my life," he worded carefully. "I wanted to be like him…to help people."

"And he didn't warn you? About the dangers of this life?"

"Oh he did," Dick smiled. "He's never really stopped, to be honest."

"And you ignored him."

The smile faded. "I'm competent enough on my own. But he forgets that sometimes." Dick swallowed to force down the knot in his throat. "He knows I'm capable, but he still treats me like a kid…"

Bruce scoffed. "You _are_ a kid."

"Not really," Dick argued, thinking of his younger self, so bright and happy and innocent. As Robin, he was far beyond his years.

Bruce glanced back at him curiously. "No…I suppose you're right."

It was quiet again, save for the patter of Bruce's keyboard.

"There's nothing in my database about this Time Lord," he said. "But…"

"But what?"

"But I scanned through the most recent publications in relativity and found a thesis on the potential for time machines," he said, and Dick perked up.

"When was it published?"

"Last year. By Dr. Carter Nichols. A professor at Gotham University." *

"Nichols…yeah!" Robin exclaimed, the grin returning to his face. "I think that's him!"

"He didn't get the grant for his research proposal," Bruce murmured. "It sounds like he was scorned by the scientific community. He resigned."

Dick's face fell. "But…I mean he probably didn't give up, right? He probably followed through on his plans out of spite. He'll have the concept. Maybe even the design. We can ask him to put it together. With your resources, we should be able to get one running in time."

Bruce looked like he wanted to say something, but he merely nodded.

"Suit up."

* * *

OoO

* * *

"Dr. Nichols?" Batman said, and the man jumped out of his skin, whirling to face them.

"B-b-b-b—"

"Batman," Robin said, smiling gently. "I'm Robin. We need your help."

"My help… _my_ _help_?!" the man stuttered, pointing to himself in awe. He was a little runt of a thing. About sixty years old. With white hair, spectacles, and extremely frail wrists.

"We know you're into time travel…we know you're planning to build a machine," Robin explained.

The man's eyes widened. "How—"

"It doesn't matter," Batman interjected. "Have you built it yet? Is it operable?"

"Operable?" the man gasped, laughing incredulously. "It's hardly more than blueprints at this point."

Robin felt his chest cave in. "How long would it take to put together?"

The man stared at them, his small eyes narrowing. "Why? Why are you two so interested—"

"Just answer the question," Batman said, and the man stepped back fearfully.

"It wouldn't be entirely from scratch…I…I only have the smallest of prototypes constructed. Enough to transport a pencil. Something of that nature…anything at a larger scale—"

"How long to build one large enough to send a person through?"

Nichols blanched. "A…a person?"

Robin nodded.

"I don't…I'm not even sure if that's possible!"

Another hit to the stomach.

They had less than a week to get this thing running, and it might not even work!

"The prototype. Does it function?" Batman questioned.

"Theoretically. With what I have, I should be able to send something into the future that will arrive on a timely manner. But…I don't know nearly enough about it to confidently send a person through, certainly not a child," he said, gesturing to Robin. "I'm not even sure how the process works entirely. It could consist of the complete dissolution of molecules…if we tried that on a person there's no telling what could—"

"Is it possible?" Robin asked. "If you had everything you needed. Could you do it?"

Nichols looked between them in awe, then down at his blueprints. "I…suppose I could. Yes. But—"

"Finish it. By Friday," Batman ordered. "I'll get you whatever materials you need."

"F-f-finish it…"

"It's really important," Robin supplied, placing his hand on the man's shoulder to steady him. "If I don't get back to the future…" Then the first sidekick never came to be, never inspired other sidekicks to fight beside their mentors, to form a team of young heroes. Then Batman might not survive his next encounter with Joker or Killer Croc. And if Batman died, who would save the world from countless threats and alien invasions?

Hal Jordan?

"It'll be a disaster. Heavy on the dis. We _need you_ , Professor."

The old man drew his hand over the top of his head. "I'll certainly do my best."

Dick noticed Batman glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, pensive.

* * *

OoO

* * *

Robin followed Batman outside into the alley, where they'd parked the car. "Batcave?"

"Bat Computer, Batmobile, now Batcave?" Batman asked, smirking through his frown. "Have you nicknamed all of my appliances?"

Robin was dumbfounded. Had Bruce really never named any of his stuff before he'd come along? "Um, yeah?"

Batman shook his head.

Robin plopped himself down in the passenger seat. He looked over the list of supplies and swallowed.

"How much is all of this going to cost?"

"I'll handle it."

"Write me an IOU," Robin joked, and it got a huff out of his mentor. He knew the materials would be 1, suspicious, and 2, extremely expensive. Not that was really a problem for Bruce Wayne, but…to do that all for Dick? When he didn't even know who he was?

The sun began to set, casting a soft blue glow over Gotham.

Robin always hated this time of day.

It's when the criminals started crawling out of the sewers.

Robin glanced back at Nichols's apartment.

"You think he can do it?" he asked.

Batman pressed his lips together, starting the engine. "If your memory serves you right, then he does eventually."

"Yeah, but…in less than a week?"

Batman didn't respond, and Robin slumped back in his seat.

 _Great._

A shriek echoed from the storefront before them, and both of them snapped to attention.

Robbers.

Four. No, six.

Armed. But weighed down by jewelry and stolen cash. Running for their van, swearing, firing gunshots into the air.

 _Amateurs._

Together, and wordlessly, the heroes sprung from the vehicle.

* * *

OoO

* * *

Robin leapt onto one man's shoulders and launched him into the next with a painful thump. They moaned on the ground, incapacitated for the next five minutes, Robin was sure.

He'd kept his back to the others for a second too long—Batman usually had his left covered—and he felt something yank on his cape, launching him backwards. He used the momentum to backflip over his assailant, but he wasn't fast enough. The man, a six-foot Yeti, slammed him into the nearest car, and Robin's head punctured window glass.

 _Ouch_.

Robin felt the hand close around his throat, dragging him from the car to the pavement, and he spared a helpless glance in Batman's direction.

Batman finished off the last of the others, and when he turned, his eyes were blazing. Robin felt the hands release him immediately, and then he watched Batman seize the giant.

Robin sat up, staring as Batman smashed the criminal into the bricks of the store wall repeatedly, over and over. The large head smacked into the mortar with a sickening sound that hit a little too close to home. Robin glanced at the others, lying motionless on the ground. Battered.

"Batman…"

Bruce turned to him, gloves coated in blood.

"What?"

Dick didn't know what to say. This…this was not Batman. This was a colder, darker, and more ruthless shadow of his partner.

"You're different…in the future."

Batman glared at him. "In what way?"

Dick frowned, crouching down to make sure the criminal was still breathing.

"You have more control over your anger," Dick said quietly. "You always deliver just enough pain to get what you need. Never more than necessary."

"This was necessary. They almost got away."

"And you almost took _their lives_ ," he said, gesturing to the twitching henchmen.

Batman shook his head. "I equate their punishment to their crime. I know my boundaries, kid. If I'm merciful in the future then I've lost what it takes to protect this city."

Dick didn't like this. The Batman he knew had never behaved this way around him. Cruel. Self-righteous.

Only twice had the man lost control when Dick was there to witness it.

Once when Two-Face had strung Robin up before Bruce's very eyes, and again when he'd found the men responsible for kidnapping his ward from Gotham Academy.

But it was never over something as mundane as a petty robbery.

"We should get back to process Nick's order," Dick suggested, voice distant. "He's gonna need those materials first thing."

He walked away, and he could feel those unrepentant eyes on him—dark, merciless, and unfamiliar.

* * *

OoO

* * *

Later that night, Dick watched Bruce emerge from the bookcase, his shoulder wrapped in gauze, a few deep cuts across his cheekbone.

"What happened out there?" he gasped. Bruce never came home that battered after patrol. He never let anything touch his face—couldn't risk the publicity.

Bruce ignored him and climbed the steps to his bedroom.

Alfred appeared soon after, dreary as he moved to rinse the blood from his hands.

Dick followed him, dismayed.

"Does he come home like that often?" he asked.

"Master Bruce unfortunately has little regard for his own wellbeing," Alfred muttered. "But I suppose we should give him the benefit of the doubt. Tonight, he had the decency to come home before dawn."

Dick frowned.

Bruce was always a hard head, and he could invest his entire being into a case. He'd seen the man work tirelessly to catch a criminal. Skip meals. Forget meetings.

But…he always tried to take care of himself out in the field, for Alfred and Dick's sake. He didn't stay out all night without informing them first, and if he wasn't home the next morning, then they knew he was in trouble.

He always took them into consideration. Because if he died, they'd both lose another family member.

Dick couldn't remember a time when Bruce didn't _care_.

"That must be hard," Dick said, placing his hand on Alfred's forearm. "Worrying about him all the time."

Alfred smiled at him. "It's what family does, young man. I'm sure yours is terrified about your whereabouts."

Dick smiled back sadly.

"Yeah. I bet they are."

* * *

 _Yay! I love writing Dick and Bruce's relationship pre-adoption. I mean, Dick isn't small and sweet anymore. He's a teen, and Batman is his old gruff, cold self._

 _*Carter Nichols is actually a real character in DC. I took my liberties with his personality because I haven't read any arcs with him, but he's known for his time travel and his relationship to Thomas Wayne._


	4. Chapter 4

_WOOHOO, FINALLY._

* * *

CHAPTER 4

-2007-

Dr. Nichols gaped as Robin set down the last of the boxes. "How in the world did you acquire these materials—"

"It doesn't matter," Batman said shortly.

Nichols stared between them in awe, and then nodded. "No, no I suppose it doesn't."

"You have less than four days," Batman growled, and he turned away, marching for the door.

Robin scowled, deciding Bruce could go do whatever it was he needed to do on his own. Attend a gala, trade some stocks, be an asshole, etc.

"Do you need any help, professor?" Dick asked calmly.

The man laughed incredulously. "That is an understatement. But I don't suppose you know anything about relativity and mechanical engineering?"

He shrugged. "I'm pretty good at math?"

Nichols laughed again, although it sounded a little insane. His hands ghosted over the different wrenches and tools, but he couldn't find what he was looking for, murmuring something about a lack of organization.

"I'm a quick learner," Robin insisted, offering one of the screwdrivers lying on the floor behind them. "I might surprise you."

Nichols sighed, accepting the tool. He met Robin's eyes—the sincere slits in his mask—and he nodded.

"Alright. You can start by unpacking all those boxes."

* * *

OoO

* * *

Dick needed to check in on the circus climate, and specifically, Tony Zucco's role in the upcoming performance.

But he needed a disguise. A better disguise than his Robin uniform, especially with his younger, impressionable self wandering about.

He needed to blend in, so he wore a simple white t-shirt over the black pants of his Robin getup, typical practice attire for his gymnastics routine. Then he painted his face white, with two black holes around his eyes.

He sort of looked like the Babadook, but at least no one would recognize him this way.

He asked some of the staff lounging around the animal cages if the men in suits had returned to harass Haly.

He received several shrugs and a few _have we met's?_.

He supposed only two people knew everything about everything at the circus.

Jack Haly, and himself.

And the circus owner would most definitely realize Dick did not work there. That only left him with one option:

To break the number one rule of time travel.

He sighed pathetically, heading off to the big top.

Inside, the light was dim, and he could hear the slap of powdered hands against steel. The soft grunts.

He stood there for a moment, taking in the picture.

His doppelganger twisted gracefully on the trapeze, spinning and leaping and flipping.

Dick smiled to himself.

He was pretty good back then.

The younger Dick landed on the platform, panting softly, before raising his hands above his head and bowing to an empty audience.

"Not bad," Dick said, and the boy started, staring down at him. "But you need to keep your knees in tight to get that last flip in."

The boy glanced at him curiously. "You think I can get the fourth in?"

"Practice makes perfect."

His younger self hummed, climbing down the ladder. "Who are you anyway? I haven't seen you before."

"I'm new. From here in Gotham. Haly offered me a routine for this weekend."

"Oh, neat. What do you do?"

"I'm an aerialist."

"Really? Me too."

Dick chuckled. "Small world."

"Well. I'm Richard Grayson. But my friends call me Dick."

"Nice to meet you, Dick."

He didn't offer his name. He was no one. He needed to be no one, especially here, at the collision of two timelines.

The younger version of himself watched on with interest, staying at the base of the trapeze, like he could sense Dick didn't want him to approach. Still, blue eyes studied him curiously, and it was unnerving.

"You know…I actually need to ask you something," Dick said, as casually as he could muster. "Do you remember that man who came here last weekend? The one who threatened Haly about protection money?"

A shadow passed over the boy's face. "I remember."

"Has he come back? Has he made any other threats?"

"No. He and his stupid goons have stayed away."

Damn. If Zucco was serious about the money, he would have returned to press the matter, wouldn't he? He had a whole additional week to convince Haly to cave. He should have paid a visit by now…done _something_.

"Why do you ask?" Young Dick asked suspiciously.

"I'm worried. They're bad news."

"I think so too. But Mom says Gotham folk are just like that. Posing empty threats. Trying to export money."

 _"Extort,"_ Dick offered, smiling softly.

"Oh, right. Extort." The boy pursed his lips together. "You don't think they're going to take revenge? For us, like, not paying them?"

Dick cringed internally. _Yes. That's exactly what's going to happen._

"No. I'm sure we're just overthinking things. Your mom is probably right." He glanced at the sun, setting behind the city. "Well, thanks, kid. I'll be seeing you."

Young Dick smiled. "Later."

 _I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what you're about to go through,_ Dick thought, glancing back at the small boy. The happiness etched on his face. _But it will be okay in the end._

 _I_ _promise._

* * *

OoO

* * *

"I'm gonna make them pay."

"Oh shut up, Zucco. You failed. The circus ain't buying shit. Forget them."

Dick peered through the vent, taking in the scene below. Zucco sat in the company of six other men at a private bar, the cigar smoke settling like a film over the room.

This was the nest. Robin was one gas bomb and a phone call away from preventing countless murders and crimes, and enough future heartache to last him a lifetime.

But he was only here to observe. Simply breathing the same air as Zucco was reckless enough as is.

"Forget them? That son of a bitch can't talk to me the way he did and get away with it. Or that shitty kid and his gypsy parents."

Dick remembered when Zucco had come to the circus the first time, demanding Haly buy insurance. Insisting that anything could happen, and it was best to be proactive. Haly had been particularly cold to the mouth-breather, fueling Zucco's anger and propelling the boss to spit more blatant threats. Dick's father had stepped in and ordered the boss off the property.

If only he'd known he'd made victims of his entire family by doing so.

"Give it a rest, Zucco. There's other fish to fry. Don't waste your time with circus rats. They'd probably pay you in tarot cards anyway."

A few cackles.

"I guess you just don't have it in you, Tony. You've lost your edge," another said, egging him on. Zucco kicked him off his stool with little effort.

"To be fair, it's pretty hard to scare a bunch of circus freaks. They walk on wires and eat swords and shit."

More laughter.

Zucco snarled. "I don't like walking away from unfinished business."

"The business was short-lived anyway. They're only here for one more week."

Zucco took a swig from his mug, licking the foam from his lips.

"Maybe you're right."

Dick felt his heart leap into his throat and then plunge to the deepest pits of his stomach, like a free-fall ride at the carnival.

He crawled back through the air shaft, kicking open the grate and jumping outside, gulping in the smell of poverty and cigarettes.

 _Don't panic. It'll be fine._

 _Zucco would never give in like that, right?_

 _Don't panic._

But as he glanced down at his hand, he watched it flicker in and out of opacity.

Solid, then translucent. Material, then thin as air.

He was _disappearing._

* * *

OoO

* * *

Dick was stressed out of his goddamn mind.

He'd screwed up the timeline. He had to fix it. Put it back together. And then he had to find a way back.

In _three days._

And he was betting everything on the chance that Zucco would pull the same stunt.

But what if the crime lord targeted another act? Or what if he didn't show at all? He'd sounded resigned at the club. Maybe he'd forfeited.

And what would happen to Dick if that were the case? If he never became Robin, and he never traveled here, to this point in time, would he disappear completely? Would this timeline disappear too?

He didn't entirely understand all of the time travel paradox crap, but he was pretty sure he and an alternate future could not exist simultaneously.

Something had to vanish, and all fingers were pointing at him.

He threaded his fingers through his hair, tugging tightly as he paced his room.

It was empty. Void of his belongings, his posters, his presence. Even when Bruce had brought him here for the first time, the room had been transformed for a kid—the bedspread had been Justice League themed, Bruce had bought him a huge TV and PlayStation, there had been stuffed animals and action figures of every sort, because Bruce hadn't known what he liked, but he'd wanted him to feel comfortable, so he'd bought him everything.

The tears welled in his eyes, and he tried to remember how to breathe.

He'd been through shit way worse than this before. Two-Face. Joker. Scarecrow. He'd faced demons beyond the comprehension of other children.

But…this?

The fear of losing his old life? The life he'd finally grown accustomed to. The people he'd met and befriended. The Bruce that bought him too many toys?

He could lose it. All of it.

Just like he'd lost his parents and his whole cultural identity to greed and pride.

The first eight years of his life had been erased. Then he'd had to start over.

He didn't have the strength to do that all again.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and wiped his hand over his eyes.

He couldn't lose his grip. Not now.

But clearly, sleep was not an alternative. He was too wired to lie down.

Deciding that perhaps a walk down to the study would serve him good, he crept down the stairs. It was only when he reached the room that he noticed the soft light seeping out from the bottom of the door.

Frowning, he pushed the door open.

Bruce was sitting back in his office chair, a book in one hand, and his eyes shut to the world.

Dick chuckled softly.

Well this was a rare sight.

Quietly, he slipped the book out of his mentor's grip, setting it down gently on the desk. Glancing around, he found an old blanket folded on the armchair of the couch, and he draped it over the sleeping man's torso.

Smiling a little, Dick backed away and curled up on the couch with one of the many books he'd read as part of his thorough education in criminal justice, forensics, biology, and computer science.

Okay, so not really your typical bed-time story, but it would make him feel a little less…out of place.

* * *

OoO

* * *

Batman drove his fist into the man's face, again, _again,_ the contact breaking open his knuckles.

He knew he'd spilled too much blood—he could feel it, thick and wet against the man's cheekbones.

But he was so angry. Hateful. He wasn't even sure why. But he couldn't stop.

He didn't _want_ to.

He yanked the criminal into the street light, and he stiffened at the sight.

Two dark eyes and a bloody cowl stared back at him, a smirk blooming at the corner of his mouth.

Bruce dropped the twin, watching him smack the concrete in a muted kind of horror.

"What have you become?" the doppelganger croaked, coughing up blood.

Batman swallowed thickly. "Who are you?"

The man spat red liquid, laughing weakly.

"I'm the idea of you. I'm what you've lost along the way. Or maybe what you've never even found."

Batman shook his head, blinking hard to rid himself of the picture.

When he opened them again, Robin had taken his clone's place.

Bloody, broken, and disappointed.

"You're not Batman," he said, with the utmost conviction. "You never were."

* * *

OoO

* * *

Bruce started.

He always seemed to jerk awake these days.

It was never a pleasant withdrawal from sleep. He couldn't remember the last time he'd come to when he wasn't ready for a fight.

He blinked, confused momentarily about the dim light in the room. Then he recalled what he'd been doing just before he'd nodded off.

He sat up, frowning down at the blanket on his chest.

Alfred? Up already?

Strange.

Then he zeroed in on the presence of the boy, sitting on the couch, reading _The Anatomy of Motive_ like it was perfectly normal for a 13-year-old to read about sociopaths at 4:00 am.

There was a line of questions fighting for verbalization, but the first that popped out of his mouth was, "Do you not sleep in the future either?"

Robin smirked. "It's the time difference…it's throwing me off."

Ha.

So the kid had a terrible sense of humor.

He had a feeling he and Clark would get along.

Bruce rubbed his eyes and stood, walking over to the boy.

"Why are you in here?"

Robin shrugged.

Bruce stared down at him, recognizing the nervous tapping of the boy's heel against the cushion. "You're worried. About getting home."

Robin finally looked at him, hiding behind a stoic gaze, a reflection.

"I've been trying to be hopeful," he admitted. "But there's a lot that's just…stacking up against me."

Bruce sighed, and after a mental discourse, he sat down beside the teen, surprising both of them.

"I don't think that's true."

Robin shook his head. "Nichols is pressed for time. The machine's coming together, but he's not even sure it will work. The rest…I don't know if the same events will even take place. What if I screwed this up for good? What if I failed?"

Robin looked at him, and this time, the fear was written across his face.

Bruce was reminded again that this was just a young boy. A kid. Lost in time. Separated from the life he knew, and unsure if he'd ever return. That wasn't something he could fight with his fists.

"The thing is, Robin, time wants to follow the paved road. It has a plan. A course of action. That's why when we deviate from our destinies, fate has a funny way of self-correcting."

Robin's brows furrowed.

"What I'm trying to say is…whatever you changed...time is in on your side," Bruce said, resting his hand on the boy's shoulder. He was glad to see it offered some form of solace to him. "Time _wants_ to be fixed."

The boy glanced up at him, hopeful. "You really think we can do this?"

"I do," he said, and he meant it. "Besides. From what I've gathered, we've worked together before. And it sounds like we make a pretty good team."

Robin chuckled, wiping a stray tear from his cheek. "You have no idea."

Bruce suggested surprising Alfred with chocolate chip pancakes, and Robin's face lit up with joy. It tugged at something on the inside, a piece of him he'd long presumed broken and numb.

Maybe the kid wasn't superhuman, but he was sure as hell unlike anything he'd seen before.

* * *

 _Sorry this took forever, but thank you for all the support! It pushed me to finally finish this chapter._

 _I swear this is the best fandom to write for, 100%._


	5. Chapter 5

_So...I'm still alive. Sorry for such a long wait! I thought I could finish this before school started and I was SO VERy WROnG. This is the second-to-last chapter. Hopefully I can get the final chapter out before you forget what this story's about._

 _Thanks for all the support and the wonderful comments. They really pulled me through this block._

* * *

CHAPTER 5

-2007-

* * *

Alfred had caught Dick tending to his wounds that next morning, and the butler had respectfully _flipped_.

He sat him down at the operating table and took out the very same instruments he'd used to patch Dick up nights prior.

"What do your parents think of all this, young man?"

Dick blinked, then smiled. "They're not exactly…around anymore."

Alfred's hands paused, and he looked up, sincerely upset. "I'm very sorry."

"It's okay. I've still got people looking after me."

"And what do they think of you putting yourself out there on the streets like this?"

Dick huffed. "Well, one of them is always worrying about me. He's always lecturing me about being careful and getting enough sleep. And he makes the best cookies when I'm sad." Alfred grinned a little at that. "The other…I'm not so sure."

Alfred waited for him to continue. For some reason, it was so easy to tell him his troubles when he had no idea what he was talking about. It was still Alfred, just…without the concern and biased response Dick would normally receive.

"He cares about me. I know that. But…sometimes I feel like he just sees me as an asset. A tool. Unnecessary," Dick said, his eyes drawn down to the stitches on his leg. "When I got shot, he basically decided it was over for me. It's like he never needed me in the first place. Like I was expendable all along, and my voice doesn't matter. Like it never did."

How quickly Bruce had tossed him away, ripped the light from Dick's clutches, oblivious to the weight of the blow.

"I'm sure he's just scared to lose you, Robin. He doesn't know how to protect you, so he tries to remove you from it altogether. Lord knows I tried to lock Master Bruce away when he came home covered in bruises." Alfred finished repairing the last set of stitches, and Dick wondered how many times the butler had sewn the boys back together over the years. "I threatened to leave, I was so worried about Master Bruce's health and safety. But I came to realize he would stop at nothing. Stubborn streak and all. The only way I could save him was by doing everything in my power to help him be the person he wanted to be," he explained. "I think your guardians will come to understand that too. Losing a child is unimaginable. But losing him by pushing him away, by pushing him towards the fire, alone, that is the greatest mistake a man can make."

"Tell that to—" Dick winced. "My…guardian doesn't get it."

"Perhaps after this ordeal, he will."

* * *

OoO

* * *

Bruce arrived home early from the office, too transfixed with time travel and his new guest to do Wayne Enterprises any good.

Robin sat on the couch, watching the news. He didn't like being cooped up in the manor, but his usefulness had dwindled once Nichols had advanced to the technical part of his assimilation. Robin had become no more than an encouraging cheerleader, and Bruce decided the boy needed a break. And perhaps…Nichols needed one too.

Bruce loosened his tie around his neck and sat down beside Robin on the couch.

The boy offered him his bag of chips, eyes peeled on the television.

Gordon spoke at the press conference about the crime rate in Gotham this year, dodging questions right and left, trying to put a positive spin on recent cases.

"Do you attribute the decrease primarily to the city's Caped Crusader?"

Gordon smirked, glancing over at the mayor and the set of stern faces at his side. He cleared his throat. "Gotham Police have worked tirelessly to secure the safety of this city. We do not affiliate our success with masked vigilantes."

Robin scoffed. "It must be killing him to say that."

Bruce quirked an eyebrow. "You know Gordon?"

"I know politicians don't want people to think their lives are in Batman's hands and not the lousy, corrupt men their taxes are employing. Plus, none of them even realize all that we…that _you_ do for them. And I know Gordon hates not giving you the proper credit."

Bruce frowned, sitting back. The conference came to a close, and Gordon's eyes briefly flitted upwards. Scanning the skies.

Robin chuckled, as if he'd recognized the same tell.

"Robin…" Bruce began, "can I ask you how we know each other?"

Robin bit his lip. Like a switch, he'd closed himself off completely. It was remarkably familiar.

"I told you. We're friends."

That word again.

Bruce didn't have many friends— _Batman_ , even fewer.

"Are you a member of the League? The son of a member?"

Dick blew a strand of hair out of his eyes, trying not to smile. "Yeah…kind of."

Bruce studied him carefully. That made sense. Why the boy knew of his identity, why they had worked together in the future.

But whose kid was he?

Certainly not Clark's. The boy wasn't meta. Green Arrow? Maybe one of the Lanterns?

But he knew for a fact no one on his team had any children of ten years old. At least, not that they knew of. Barry had a nephew, but Bruce had met the boy before, and he was all red hair and bad jokes like his uncle.

Perhaps they acquired more League members in the coming years.

God knows Clark liked making friends.

"We probably shouldn't talk about it too much," Robin said quietly. "Or I'll have to deal with Barry, Wally, and Jay's disappointment for screwing up the time stream. Heavy on the _dis."_

Bruce smirked.

He decided he kind of liked this kid.

"Do you want to patrol with me tonight?" he asked, realizing a moment later how paternal that sounded.

It's not like he wanted to bond with the boy. Patrol would simply help take his mind off things.

Robin's face lit up, and then he frowned, hesitant. "If someone sees me with you…it could be bad."

"That's what you get for wearing primary colors."

Robin gaped, affronted. "I'm more than capable of being _stealthy_."

"Then what's the problem?"

Grinning wryly, Robin bounded off to change.

* * *

OoO

* * *

Unsurprisingly, the covert operation became a full-blown drug bust.

Batman had wanted to investigate Falcone's latest dealings, but he hadn't intended to stumble across an actual exchange with his business partner.

They were getting sloppy in his absence.

All of them here in such a conspicuous meeting place...it's like they were begging for a beating.

He'd steeled himself, deciding he could wait for another opportunity. A night when he could come fully prepared to fight off twenty gun-wielding criminals.

But it hadn't helped when Robin sent him that knowing grin. Like he'd read his mind, and he was expressing the very excitement Bruce felt in his chest.

 _An opportunity like this is too golden to leave to Gordon and his team._

Batman nodded, fingers sliding for his smoke pellets, and they rained upon the criminals in a merciless downpour.

Batman would never admit it, but he loved the genuine fear in the eyes of the men he fought. They truly believed he was a mythic creature. A demon.

A monster.

They were only half-right.

"Maneuver seven!" Robin yelled from his left.

Batman jolted, recalling the move he'd learned from his days of training in Brazil. He crouched on instinct, his fingers threading together a moment before Robin's weight dropped against his hand. He launched the boy into the air.

Robin struck the thugs on his downward spiral, kicking and flipping like one of Bruce's bolas.

 _How—?_

"Batman! Three o'clock!"

Bruce whirled, knocking the man unconscious without having to so much as turn his head.

Their communication…flawless. Robin's fighting techniques…eerily similar.

Bruce hated the uncanny itch this kid gave him.

The last of the thugs crumpled, and Robin grinned, dusting his gloved his hands of a job well done.

Bruce opened his mouth to interrogate the boy about his seemingly psychic abilities when Robin buckled, falling to his knees with a broken gasp.

He writhed on the warehouse floor. And like a dying lightbulb, he _flickered_.

He was blinking in and out of existence. Solid one moment, transparent the next. Like Martian Manhunter caught in a phasing loop.

Bruce stared at him, uncomprehending.

"No, no, no, no…" Robin muttered, his fingers digging into the floor desperately, muscles taught.

Bruce willed himself to move, and he crouched down beside the boy, setting his hand on his back.

The contact startled Robin, but where Bruce had placed his hand, the flickering had ceased, as if that connection alone was his tether to this reality.

Carefully, Bruce drew the boy closer to him, until he had both arms around him.

The flickering stopped, and Robin clung to Bruce tightly, face buried in his chest, shuddering with repressed sobs.

* * *

OoO

* * *

They drove home in an unsettling silence.

"You didn't tell me you were phasing out of reality."

Dick threw his hands up. "You told me everything would work out!"

He had no right to blame Bruce for any of this. He shouldn't yell accusations at the only person capable of helping him get home.

But…his mentor had instilled a kind of desperate hope in Dick. And that hope was crumbling.

Bruce didn't react to his outburst. He merely glanced at him, cautious. "Robin…who were the people you saved? Who did you save from dying?"

"I can't tell you. But it's bad."

So unbelievably bad.

"Maybe we should try and remedy it, then."

Dick snapped his head at him. "I thought you said…"

"I still believe what I told you," Bruce amended. "I think time is on your side. But if it's this serious, you might have to lend it a hand."

Dick shook his head. "I can't. You don't understand. I can't…fix this."

"Can't? Or _won't?"_

Damn. It was like he knew everything from a single look. Was Dick really so transparent?

"I thought you were the one always preaching about never taking life. And now you want me to kill someone?"

"I didn't say that." Bruce sighed. "You're disappearing, Robin. That means your timeline is teetering on the edge of erasure. Maybe we should put in more effort to recreating the circumstances in which your timeline pans out."

But Zucco had given up on the circus. The next act would pass without incident.

"It's no use," Dick whispered. "All the paths meant to cross can't intersect anymore."

Bruce adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. "I still believe things will work in our favor. But maybe they work because you take action. Not because you wait idly."

Dick glared out the window.

What else could he do? He couldn't possibly commit the horrible crime himself and frame Zucco. Although he'd be lying if he said the idea hadn't crossed his mind more than once.

He loved his family too dearly. He valued life. Justice. His own sanity.

He couldn't kill his parents to set things right. He'd rather disappear, lose it all, than snap those wires, than bring about the death of two innocent, loving people.

But how could he watch everything he loved—his cape, his life, Alfred, Bruce, Babs, the Team—how could he watch it erode to nothing? Knowing he had the power to stop it?

What if he woke to his mother and father and his restored childhood, but they were trapped in a dystopia ruled by the Light or aliens or an unhinged Superman?

Or what if it was absolutely perfect? What if he could live on blissfully unaware of this tragedy? What if Bruce lived on without him. Adopted a different orphaned boy, a new partner?

Why did that hurt just as badly?

 _Dammit._

He'd wrecked everything. All because he'd wanted to catch a glimpse of his mother's smile.

Dick removed the domino mask so he could free the welling tears in his eyes. "I'm just...scared."

It was a difficult admission. But painstakingly true.

"Fear is a tool," Bruce said thoughtfully. "I think it's time you use it."

Dick stared at his mentor, then back out the window.

Bruce was still the same emotionally constipated, shitty counsel as before. But there was an odd relief in that.

It was a sameness he needed. A lifeline to his old world he could cling to as the water rose around him.

* * *

 _*I realize the timeline stuff probably makes zero sense and commits sci-fi atrocities, but alas, I do not give a damn._


	6. Chapter 6

_Here it is! I hope it was worth the wait. ALSO - thank you so much for all the feedback last chapter. I haven't had time to privately respond to all your amazing comments, SO THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU. It really helped me push through._

* * *

CHAPTER 6

-2007-

Robin sat at the windowsill, watching Nichols run to and fro about the place, adding the last bolts and screws to the machine in a mad frenzy.

The old man looked entirely insane—shirt rumpled and unwashed, spectacles crooked, hair about as tame as Artemis's when she let the lion's mane out.

"Have you been sleeping?" Dick asked.

Nichols continued to run back and forth, and Dick rolled his eyes.

"I appreciate your work ethic, but what if you make a miscalculation out of sleep deprivation or something—"

"Nonsense!" Nichols exclaimed. "My brain function is impeccable."

Dick let his mind play with the notion of 'peccable' for a moment, and then sobered.

"Do you think this will get me back?"

Nichols gave him a disturbing kind of grin as he pulled the gear shift into position.

The machine hummed to life, and Dick watched, fascinated, as a familiar white light flickered at the center of the metal frame.

The air within rippled, and then the light expanded to the edges of the machine, hissing and shuddering. Dick felt a strange sensation overcome him, like a wistful gravity.

As if time were calling him home.

Entranced by the machine, Dick almost missed Nichols' huff of triumph and his small dance around the office.

When he'd contained himself, the doctor returned with a jam jar.

Inside, a white butterfly fluttered against the glass walls.

"You're sending it through?"

Nichols grinned again, punching numbers into the calculator he'd attached to the mainframe. The machine looked like something from a steampunk magazine. Non-uniform bands and wires, bolts and steel bars.

But it was his ticket out of here. Even if it _was_ one breath away from collapsing in on itself.

Nichols quickly slid the lid off the jar, launching the butterfly into the light none too gracefully.

Dick's quiet chuckle died under the weight of anticipation.

"When is it—"

"Twenty-six seconds."

They waited, and Dick felt his chest tighten, pull down on his throat and his lungs.

 _Work. Work, or I don't know what I'll do._

Then the little butterfly emerged like a splash of white paint, seemingly intact, and Dick and Nichols slowly turned to face one another.

"It works," Dick breathed. He could go home. He could still win this battle.

Nichols stared at him. "It works."

"It _works!"_

"Ha! It _works!"_ the old man repeated, beaming. He grabbed Dick by both shoulders and danced around with him like a mad man.

A mad, mad, genius.

* * *

OoO

* * *

"The machine's up and running, I hear?" Alfred said, offering Dick another scoop of dumplings.

Dick's face split into an ecstatic smile. "It's running alright. The Doc is running a few more tests for tomorrow."

"We're cutting it close," Bruce muttered.

 _Don't we always?_ Dick thought.

"Time travel. What an achievement."

"Alfred, Barry time travels all the time. It's not that significant."

"That is a metahuman, Master Bruce. This Carter Nichols has broken new ground. It's a shame he doesn't get the recognition he deserves."

Dick sympathized with Alfred.

Nichols knew the consequences of meddling with time, the hell he could raise by publishing his life's work. Such power couldn't be entrusted to the masses, to the men with vendettas and greedy hearts.

Only Batman and Robin would ever know what he'd accomplished.

And that fact made Dick's appetite dwindle.

"Nichols is a scientist," Bruce argued. "He was never in this for publicity. He's always dreamed of solving the puzzle. Finding the hidden key. That's reward enough for a man like him."

To another, it may have sounded dismissive. But Dick picked up on the honest undercurrent in Bruce's tone.

 _A man like him_?

Perhaps scientists and detectives weren't all that different.

Both striving for answers. Digging for a logical explanation.

For truth.

But that was Batman. What was Bruce searching for?

"What's _your_ dream?" Dick blurted.

Bruce stared at him, and for a moment, Dick suspected he would not answer.

They'd never really discussed why Bruce adopted his alter ego. Dick knew at first it had been a way to channel his revenge. To save the city. To save himself.

But now, what did he want to accomplish? What was the end result? What did he _want_?

"I suppose," Bruce pondered, "I dream of creating a world where….children are no longer orphaned by petty criminals and thieves. I dream of a better Gotham. That's what I want to achieve."

Dick thought of his parents' deaths, and Bruce Wayne, standing in the crowd, helpless to stop it.

"What if you can't?" Dick whispered. "What if you get injured, or you grow too old, or tired? What if you can't save Gotham?"

Bruce looked down at his plate, pensive.

"Then I guess I'll have to find someone who can."

* * *

OoO

* * *

Dick sat on a park bench in civilian clothes, shooing the geese away with his foot.

This was his last day here.

Well. Here in _time._

Although…if things went sour, then maybe these were the last breaths he was taking, the last sights he would see.

Geese shit. And ugly, naked trees.

He supposed it could have been worse.

"Go ahead and call the police. Do it."

Dick's eyes followed the voice, training on a young girl sitting on the branch of a sycamore, arguing with a construction team.

"Go on. I dare you."

Red hair. Freckles. Sass and stubbornness.

All contained in a bundle of knees and elbows.

Dick's heart melted in his chest.

"Look, kid, we've got a job to do."

"This tree has been here longer than any of you have been alive. What gives you the right to tear it down?"

"The City Parks Department."

She rolled her brilliant green eyes. "Well then bring them down here so I can yell at them too."

A few of the men chuckled, glancing around at the amused faces of the growing crowd.

Barbara Gordon.

Fighting for the helpless since 2007.

Dick was tempted to argue on her behalf, but he knew that the kid must have some serious cards up her sleeve because that sycamore was still standing five years later.

He thought of Babs, wishing he would have told her who he was. Been honest with her. Showed her that he wasn't some rich, flirtatious nerd without a backbone.

Now he might never get the chance.

He started to think of Wally and the others. Artemis and her rare, wispy laugh. M'gann's compassion and Connor's blunt disinterest in almost everything. Kaldur's strength. Wally's friendship.

But mostly, he thought of Bruce and Alfred.

If he were to disappear, they would never know what happened. Bruce would probably drive himself into the ground trying to find him.

He'd probably never stop looking.

Dick successfully buried the urge to cry, but in the next moment, he was toppling backwards onto the grass.

He righted himself, bewildered.

Had he just…phased through the bench?

He stared down at his body, and a wave of fear washed over him.

His entire torso was pulsing in and out of existence, in tune with the beat of his heart.

Gone. There. Gone. There.

 _Gone._

* * *

OoO

* * *

Dick stumbled, trying his best to take the back streets, away from observing eyes and impressionable civilians.

Up and down fires escapes, tripping over trash and a few unsuspecting homeless people.

This was the worst it'd been, as though time were giving him a final warning.

A warning he was trying desperately to heed.

He was only a few minutes from Nichols's place. He just had to make it there before he phased through the street and wound up in the middle of the Indian Ocean.

It was ironic, all that Batman had taught him about stealth, about becoming a shadow. Becoming a laugh in the wind.

When right now, all he wanted was stark visibility.

"How does it feel, Richard?"

Dick froze. The voice was like a razor blade on bone.

"To be cast into events you are helpless to stop. To be forced to live through the very thing that broke you in the beginning?"

He spun, and the Lord of Time stared down at him beneath his dark hood.

Dick scowled. He wanted to dropkick this guy into outer space.

"Why?" Dick hissed. "Why did you do this to me?"

The meta raised his palms. "Because you do the same to me someday. You trap me in the Speed Force with the help of the Flash, and you make me relive my worst memories, over and over and over again."

"And you didn't think that maybe my motive for all that is because you send me back here like a psycho? Sounds like you had it coming, dude."

"Justice is not temporal in my eyes. What is done is done." He peeled back the hood, revealing two black, ghoulish eyes, and a head covered in tattoos. "Now you will never escape this place. And my life will go on as the Fates intended."

Dick studied the demon before him.

This guy wanted to trap Dick here forever, or until time decided to mend the blight itself. He wanted Dick to suffer as he had. To relive everything on the sidelines. Backstage...

Dick's head snapped up, the plan stitching itself together with clever words and fragile egos.

"Well, sorry, Timey Tim—but you failed."

The man's grin didn't fade, but the force behind it waned. "Impossible."

"I didn't have to go through the same thing all over again. I saved my parents from their death. I get to live in another timeline, where I'm happy. Oblivious. And it's all thanks to you."

He caught on, eyes narrowing dangerously. "You never would have risked altering the time stream."

Dick raised his flickering arm, "Think again."

The time lord shook head. "Time does not operate like that. You will lose what you've lost in other ways."

"Maybe. Maybe not. After all, you're the one who messed with the timeline, aren't you? You're the one the time wraiths will hunt. Either way, Tony Zucco has no desire to kill my parents anymore. The wires will never break. And the younger me will live on, happily, with no recollection of these events, while you live on knowing exactly how you failed." Dick shrugged. "Looks like the joke's on you."

"No," the villain snarled. "Your parents _will_ die. And you will watch. And you will be stuck here, without a family, without anyone to turn to. Just like I was. And should you try to interfere, you will be hunted down by time itself and destroyed."

 _I've got him_ , Dick thought. _He's taken the bait._

"What a pleasant picture," Dick mused. "But you better hurry. The show starts tonight, and if you want to get your revenge and watch me watch my life play out before me, you're gonna need Tony Zucco. And he's a real dick."

The time lord yanked his hood back over his head, backing away. "You will taste misery, Richard Grayson. Just wait."

Dick tapped his watch sarcastically, just to pop another vein in the freak's forehead.

* * *

OoO

* * *

Dick collapsed into Batman the moment he opened the door.

"Where have you been, Robin? You're almost out of time."

Dick groaned, and Batman guided him to the chair.

Dick had to believe that the time lord's revenge would pay off and set things back in motion. He wasn't sure how the villain would manipulate Zucco. Or if he would interfere at all.

But he had to believe that this wasn't all for _nothing._

"Is it ready?" Dick asked, glancing at Nichols, who was pacing back and forth, murmuring scientific jargon beyond Dick's level of understanding.

"We have a few complications," Bruce grunted.

 _What?!_

Dick phased through the chair and landed on his ass again, swearing. "What kind of issues?"

"Operating the machine today and yesterday has blown the electrical grid for the entire block. Power's out."

"Are you serious?"

"I brought a few generators," Bruce assured him. "But Nichols needs to make some adjustments before we start it up. It shouldn't take long."

"I don't think I _have_ long," Dick said, gnashing his teeth against another shock-wave of invisibility.

"It's bad," Bruce agreed, looking him over. "It's getting worse."

"Comforting."

"I don't understand…the machine is working now. His existence should be sealed!" The doctor panicked, pacing, forever pacing. "This isn't right. This isn't good...not good at all..."

Bruce turned on Nichols with his famous glower. _"Finish."_

The command slapped the doctor back into action.

Dick leaned against the wall, savoring the solid contact.

He wondered if this was what dying felt like. Fading out of reality piece by piece. Then all at once.

Did it have to be so terrifying?

His eyes found the clock in the rear of the room, and he sighed.

"Batman."

Bruce turned to look at him, discerning the urgency in his voice like he'd known him for years, not days.

"You have to go. Now."

"Go where?"

Dick didn't have the energy for the epic eye roll this situation required.

"The circus," he said. "You're running out of time. The show starts in an hour."

"I'm not leaving you for a damn circus act."

Dick huffed, wincing against the pain of disassociating. "I'm serious. Get out of here."

"Robin. I'm not letting you do this alone."

Dick closed his eyes and looked up at his mentor, imploring.

"You have to go to the circus. Right now. Promise me—promise me you'll go."

Batman hesitated, conflicted about deserting him. "I…"

Dick lowered his voice to a pleading whisper. "Bruce. It's going to change your life forever. For the better, I think." He threw all his desperation into his gaze. " _Trust_ me."

Batman exhaled and glanced away. "Okay." His face was dark, unreadable to most, but an open book to Dick.

Well...more like an open diary.

Private. Off limits. Usually hidden in a sock drawer.

"And Batman," Dick said urgently. "Remember to put the Doc's info into the database. But keep it encrypted. This all rests on my snooping."

Bruce smirked, backing away. "Good luck, Robin. We'll meet again someday."

"Yeah," Dick laughed, tears welling. "We will."

They stared at one another for a moment, each suspended in that belief. Dick hoped Bruce was right. He hoped he would make it out of this alive. He hoped this wasn't goodbye.

He didn't want to leave Bruce all alone.

Batman nodded, offering a rare, genuine smile. Then he gave Nichols a pointed look and disappeared into the hallway.

* * *

OoO

* * *

Dick watched as Nichols ran around, kicking papers and boxes out of his way, making last minute adjustments to his calculations.

It felt like he was holding his breath, and the second he released it, he would wake up to a familiar sky or never wake up again.

"That's it," Nichols said, sending Dick a nervous grin.

"Time to go home," Dick whispered.

Nichols pulled the lever, and the warm light kissed the walls of the room.

If he stepped through that portal, would he return to the world he knew? Or would he be surrounded by gymnasts and entertainers and his parents' lively faces?

"Ready when you are, Robin."

Dick rose to his feet, staggering a bit, but managing to stay upright for this moment.

"Thanks, Doc. For all you've done."

Nichols squeezed his shoulder. "And thank you, Robin. For all you will do."

Robin dipped his head, smiling weakly. He swallowed the lump in his throat and stepped through the machine.

* * *

OoO

* * *

Dick stumbled forward, face-planting straight into a…

…strategically-placed bean bag chair?

He propped himself up on his forearms—sturdy, solid arms, _thank_ _God_ —and he locked eyes with Dr. Carter Nichols.

For a horrifying moment, Dick thought he'd gone nowhere at all. That the machine had failed, and he was stranded in time.

 _You failed_ , a voice chanted. _You failed._

Only…this Nichols was a little greyer. A little frailer.

And much less sleep-deprived.

"Right on time," the man said, showing Dick the face of his stopwatch.

Dick staggered to his feet, glancing around at the same office, although newly furnished and much less disorderly than before.

Behind him the machine sat in its same position, the white light fading from its center.

"Year?" Dick checked.

"2012."

The breath finally slipped between his teeth.

He'd made it. He'd made it in one piece.

He felt like crying.

"Is everything…the same?"

"Oh I wouldn't know. What was it before?"

Dick strode over to the window, peeking through the blinds to check the skies for a rogue superman.

"Is like…Batman evil? Have aliens invaded? Is Lex Luthor president?" he rambled, glancing back at the amused old man.

Was Dick's best friend still a speedster? Was Barbara's sycamore still there?

"Everything seems normal to me. But what is normal without context?"

Aliens seemed pretty abnormal to Dick.

Nichols sighed. "Go home, Robin. Go home and ease your worries. We'll have a chance to talk later."

Home.

But what was home in this life?

What if he went back to the manor, and Bruce and Alfred didn't recognize him?

What if there was a different orphan sitting at the dining room table?

* * *

OoO

* * *

Dick had been missing for nearly a week.

If Bruce was still…Bruce, then in all likelihood all of Gotham's police force would be looking for him. All the League, even Selina and Ivy and Harley. Bruce would uproot all of Gotham to find him.

Then ground Dick for life.

He found his bike stashed in the same place he'd left it—miraculously untouched and intact—and he sped back to the manor, his knuckles white against the handlebars.

A cold weight lodged in his throat when he reached the grounds.

The manor was dead. Peaceful.

No cops. Only a few lights. The study. The kitchen. The living room.

Like a normal weeknight.

Like Dick hadn't dropped off the face of the earth for five whole days.

Dick drove around to the Cave entrance, feeling ill, queasy, completely and irrevocably nauseous.

The Cave was empty. Just as he remembered it.

Clean and haunting at the same time. Filled with the blue glow of the Bat Computer.

Slowly, he made his way up the stairs, pushing through the bookcase. He finally had his body back, but he'd never felt so out of touch with reality.

It was like a dream. A hazy, unsettling dream.

He entered the common room, lifting his bleary eyes to the sight of Bruce and Alfred staring at him in astonishment.

"Master Dick," Alfred said shakily.

Dick opened his mouth, but nothing happened. He couldn't find his voice.

But he didn't have to.

Alfred surged forward and embraced him tightly. "We were so worried."

"I'm sorry," Dick said, breathing out heavily. Alfred. Bruce. Cleaning detergent and playboy cologne. This was how it was supposed to be. "I…sort of lost track of time."

Alfred peeled away and assessed the damage, brushing off the dirt on his jacket and prodding at his injuries. When he finished, he stepped aside, revealing a motionless Bruce Wayne.

Bruce watched him, eyes hard and unreadable as ever.

 _Here it comes._

 _Here comes the spiel._

"You made it," he said quietly, eyes roaming Dick's face.

The boy blinked. Waited.

That was it? No questions? No reprimands?

Bruce moved forward then, his face crumpling into a smile, and he drew Dick into his arms. Puzzled, Dick hugged him back. Slowly, Dick melted into the touch, burying his face in his mentor's chest. That warmth, that security that Bruce harbored...it was unparalleled. Dick had missed it.

"I thought I'd lost you for good," Bruce whispered into his hair.

Dick realized that Bruce meant the past. Their past. Their last moment before they parted.

He _remembered_.

"I did too," Dick confessed, laughing hoarsely.

Bruce pulled away to take him in, and Dick was startled by the emotion there.

"You knew?" Dick guessed, piecing it together. "You knew I was going to disappear around this time, so you grounded me for four months."

Excessive much?

Bruce pressed his lips together. "I was also angry with you and your recklessness. But yes. I had ulterior motives to keep you off the streets."

Dick chuckled. "You're unbelievable…"

He grasped Bruce's arm tightly, squeezing. This was _his_ Bruce. Emotionally challenged. Secretive. Stubborn. Fatherly.

He was really home.

The tears came again, threatening to spill, and Dick wiped them away hastily.

This didn't go unnoticed by Bruce. The man patted Dick on the back and guided him to the couch. Alfred bee-lined for the kitchen, probably to prepare Dick a five course supper.

Dick glanced at Bruce, who stared at him like a map he could hardly unfold, let alone read.

"I'm sorry...for pushing you away," Bruce began. "I ended up causing the very thing I was trying to steer you from."

"I know," Dick said. "And I know you're just trying to protect me. But you've trained me like a pro. You've got to trust in me, Bruce."

"I do," the man protested, then exhaled through his nose. "I want to, Dick. But…before you I was a different person. I was in a dark place. The thought of you dying…it takes me back to that place." His eyebrows pinched. "I can't lose you. Do you understand that?"

Dick swallowed. "You're not going to lose me."

Bruce didn't look convinced.

"Listen. I'll do my best to follow orders from here on out. I'll do as you say, no questions asked. Unless your plan is stupid," he backtracked, and Bruce shook his head fondly. "Just promise me that you won't die on me either. Don't tell me to leave you behind. Don't put your life on the line just to spare mine."

"That's what family _does_."

Dick gaped slightly, letting a soft gasp escape his lips.

Bruce had never said that before. That word. In that context.

The man blinked, realization dawning, his mouth fumbling.

"I—"

"You're right," Dick cut in. "It is."

Something soft appeared in those heavy eyes.

And it was true. As much as it sucked to let Zucco get away with what he did…to have played a part in his parents' demise—something in time he would learn to accept—this is where Dick was meant to be. What he was meant to do. This _was_ his family now.

"So does this mean I'm not grounded anymore?"

Bruce raised his eyebrows. "You mean after you snuck out for patrol the very same night I grounded you?"

"Uh…yeah?"

Bruce looked to the ceiling for help, but the smirk on his lips said everything.

"One week," he began, and Dick's smile tore through his cheeks. "Your leg needs to heal properly, especially after the strain you've put on it over the last few days. I'm serious Dick. No sliding down the stairs. No training. No—"

But the voice drowned against the thrum of Dick's heartbeat.

The pulse that hummed the same word again and again.

Home.

Home.

Home.

* * *

 _Epilogue posted!_


	7. Epilogue

:)

EPILOGUE

-2007-

* * *

Bruce tried to smile, but his mind was stuck on that goddamn kid.

He was so brave. Not fearless, but…a smile in a pit of despair.

He'd brought technicolor into Bruce's life—idiotic yellows and reds into Batman's.

He hoped with all his being that the boy made it out alright.

He deserved it.

"Ladies and Gentlemen…the Flying Graysons!" the ring master announced, and the circus music began, and Bruce felt entirely out of place in such a ridiculous atmosphere full of tricks and makeup. Somewhere out there, a teen was fighting for his existence.

A boy walked out behind the family in red, small but grand in his presence.

He smiled brightly at the world, taking hold of the trapeze in his hands.

Eyes—blue as oceans.

Bruce stiffened, and his date glanced at him curiously.

"Bruce?" she asked, tugging on his sleeve.

But he hardly paid her any attention.

Robin.

Robin was here.

No.

He was too young. Eight or nine at most.

But that gait, and those eyes….unmistakable.

This was him. His past self. His…present self. Still as ostentatious and madly inspiring as ever.

Bruce watched in awe as the boy performed his quadruple flip, and the crowd roared in approval.

He stared as the mother and father concluded the act.

He shot to his feet as the wires unhinged, and the pair crashed to the floor of the Big Top with a sickening crunch.

The pieces fell into place, and he gazed up at the boy on the platform, a broken child. A mirror.

And he knew in that moment this was it.

This was the beginning of a very different chapter.

* * *

OoO

* * *

Later, when child care services finally agreed to let him keep the boy, and Dick had grown adamant about aiding him in his nightly escapades, the question came up. Inevitably.

"What should my name be?" Dick asked, wolfing down his third bowl of cereal. "It needs to be something cool. Something that goes well with yours. Like, Batman and Batkid. Or…Batman and Boy Wonder. Batman and…mmm…."

Bruce raised the newspaper to hide his knowing grin.

"…Robin?"

End.

* * *

 _YAY. We made it. Pretty sure I butchered science and all logical reasoning, but hey. What's fanfic without glorious blunders?_

 _Anyway. Thank you all for supporting this story. It was a blast. Writing Dick Grayson will always bring me so much joy, and I hope this story brought a smile to your face._

 _Until next time,_

 _Erica_


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